


Sleep is Just a Free Trial of Death

by cybercataclysm



Category: MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Romance, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Oneshot, fun fact my ship name for these two is Autopsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybercataclysm/pseuds/cybercataclysm
Summary: A month after Team Sleuth saves the imaginary realm and escapes their office building, Pickle Inspector has a strange dream.
Relationships: Death/Pickle Inspector
Kudos: 5





	Sleep is Just a Free Trial of Death

Pickle Inspector didn't dream often, and when he did, he rarely remembered it. By the time he got his morning beer in, it was a fuzzy mess of nonsense in his head, never to be deciphered, discussed, or recalled.

But when he went to sleep and woke up in a familiar white void, he knew it wasn't quite like any other dream he'd had.

Death was there- sat at his card table, sipping from a glass of tea in his skeletal hands. He looked over to where Pickle stood, and his eyesockets widened for a moment- before a smile graced his pseudo-lips. He beckoned, and the detective came forward.

"What do I owe the pleasure of your visit to, Pickle?" Death asked, stirring his tea with his new scythe. "I haven't seen you in nearly a month."

"A-ah, well... I've just been busy with work, y'know? Lotsa problems needin' solved in Midnight City... private investigators are in h-high demand." He looked around, scratching the back of his neck. He looked down- realizing that he was still in pajamas, he blushed slightly. "Fuckin'... fell asleep. Now I'm here..."

Death nodded. "I see. So you're dreaming. That explains..."

With a wave of his imaginary hands, Pickle's clothing swooped around, changing back into his familiar white and green trench coat. He gulped nervously. "S-s-sorry about th' pj's."

"It's quite alright. Tea?"

Pickle nodded. Death conjured a second teacup and poured the tea in, adding two lumps of sugar before handing it off to the Inspector. He murmured a thanks and sipped the warm tea- jasmine, his favorite. The two of them sat in comfortable silence, drinking their tea. Death's scythe morphed back into its weapon form as he sat down his empty teacup after a few minutes, and he used it to stand up. "Would you care for a game?" he asked. "No stakes. Just... a round of Connect Four between friends." 

The detective giggled, smiling a little. "I'd love that."

"Oh, I'm just terrible at th-this..."

Death smiled as he emptied the rows of their pieces. His robes were spread over the white floor of the afterlife, giving the impression that he was sat criss-cross. "It's fine, Inspector. No one is good at everything."

"W-well I'm no good at anything!" Pickle Inspector groaned. "I'm a lousier detective than Sleuth and Ace, a-and I can't hold my own in a fight, and I'm a terrible kisser..."

The reaper raised an eyebrow. "Why would that matter? Who told you such a thing?"

"M'uh first girlfriend..." Pickle drew circles on the table with his pointer finger, distracted. "Didn't l-last long, after she found out I was just a- a big ol' coward who couldn't play any sports." He groaned and pulled a flask of moonshine from his pocket, downing a swig. He felt the boost to his imagination, large enough to give him a tingly sensation in his fingers. Death pursed his nonexistant lips, and moved to pat Pickle on the shoulder.

"It's. It's alright, Pickle dear."

Pickle felt a blush grow on his cheeks when Death called him "dear". It was probably just the alcohol getting to him. He moved a little closer to Death. The reaper seemed to catch on, and his bony cheeks turned a shade of black. The two of them sat there for longer than either of them would admit, staring at each other.

Then, the reaper pulled Pickle closer, hesitant. Pickle Inspector didn't fight it, and allowed himself to be pulled into Death's lap. He felt... warm. The afterlife wasn't _too_ chilly, but Death's robes felt like they had just been pulled out of the dryer, soft and sleek and warm. Slowly, he rested his head on Death's chest. There was no heartbeat, no pattern of breath, but it felt alright. Death slowly moved one bony hand under Pickle's head, stroking his hair. Pickle Inspector blinked slow, like an old curious cat, and Death felt something fluttering in his chest.

"Th- this is... quite..."

"Mmmn... Death..."

Pickle moved his hand to Death's, and intertwined their fingers together. He tried, and failed, to stop his face from growing redder. 

"Pickle Inspector...?"

"Y-yeah?"

"May I, er... well, you don't have to, b-by any means, but I supposed, if you w-wanted, I'd, uh... oh sweet Demimonde Semigoddess... could I kiss you?!"

Death's eyes were wide, his face dark with a bloodless blush. The Inspector froze for a moment, jaw slightly agape, still holding Death's fingers in his own. And in a swift motion, he moved up to catch the reaper's mouth on his own.

Kissing Death wasn't like kissing another person- well, of course it wouldn't be. They say a kiss from Death should be cold, and tragic, right? But Death's lips were as warm as his robes, and despite the fact that Pickle Inspector _knew very well_ that he was kissing a skull, it still felt soft, not in the way that skin is soft, but the way a ball of unspun wool was. It was almost fluffy. Slowly, Death pulled Pickle Inspector into a position where his legs were around the reaper's waist, and he sat on top of his dark robe as they kissed. It was so easy to lean in, to meld into one another's arms, slow and sure.

Inspector pulled away only to quietly gasp for air, and Death giggled. "Oh my, I..."

"That was, u-uh... really, really nice," Pickle murmured.

"I enjoyed it, too." Death smiled. "I'll see you in the morning."

When Pickle awoke in his empty bed the next morning with a clear memory of everything, he decided to skip his beer, and vowed to make a visit to the Imaginary Realm soon.


End file.
